Princess Ladli Begam's

CHAPTER VIII: DEATH OF ARJUMAND

I jerked. Thunder had boomed, inflicting boundless rain. The sound of large amounts of water falling on the roof, descending in an elongated shape and breaking in mid-air. I rose to my senses, but I still felt like I was in the imaginary realm. I had been well awake, even my eyes had denied myself to fall back shut and fall asleep. Outside, there is no scene more deserving than the rain that spilled into the land of Shahdara. Houses were wet, and no animal or human dared to set foot outside, for the damp ground waited for careless feet to sink.

The thunder came back. I saw his lightning rooted in the sky, trying to reach the earth. It was a memorial, a memorial of death and sorrow for the entire sultanate. The news was brought by state officials, read out in the middle of the city, and mourning was shouted throughout mosques and temples. I'm a half-dead nelangsa, slumped down the couch. My body was heavy, so I could not feel that blood was speeding through my pulsating veins. My ears digested the sentence that Nazeer brought me in a hurry this morning. He went out to buy some honey, then came back in a hurry to forget that the honey was left somewhere. My mother cried so hard when Nazeer said those words, then she fainted right then and there. And I, this poor me, don't have the right vocabulary to represent my own grief, even on some sides, I don't know if I'm happy or sad anyway.

Arjumand is dead! Or better call her Queen Mumtaz Mahal Padshah Begam. He died in Burhanpur, inside a war red tent that Shah Jahan used as a private tent belonging to the Sultan. Khan Jahan Lodi, the leader of Bijapur, had withdrawn all Mughal forces to fight in the southern kerontang plain, although a crushing defeat had been inflicted on his side. But, Khan Jahan's death has been paid the price. He had been comforted after his death, which was filled by the death of the Queen Mumtaz Mahal himself. Arjumand died when his fourteenth child was born from his mortal womb. A daughter named Gauhara Begam. Arjumand had a chance to talk after giving birth, but his cost was broken by the pain that hugged him alone. When the healers said that the Queen was suffering from severe bleeding, which caused them to wonder if this Queen could survive or not, Shah Jahan panicked instead of being overcast. He has been trying for his love. The last night Arjumand was on earth spent by Shah Jahan kneeling and prostrating himself on his prayer mat, facing west, towards the holy Mecca, asking for the love of Allah which he only hoped to be the Sultan of the world. However, Shah Jahan broke charcoal on his own business, as Arjumand died shortly afterwards.

I pray to God that Arjumand's sins may be forgiven, that he may someday gather with us all in heaven, perhaps to spend two or three sips of wine jokingly as a whole family. He has been with his grandparents and Father and Sultan Jahangir. Slowly, my whole family was swept away by death, and one by one we would throng the tables of gold gilded with layers of green silk in heaven.

But how damned I am, for on one side of my heart I am relieved at the news of his death. For years in an uncircummitted love, Arjumand was the only loophole to pass through, yet the gap itself was sturdier than anything that broke through it. Arjumand has been there for Shah Jahan for many years. Their love sounds ridiculous, but it is, because either Shah Jahan or Arjumand knew that the spouse whom God had given to each of them, was the immortal couple until the next life. He has given so many children, fourteen, but seven who survive now. I have also heard that his eldest daughter, Jahanara, served as Padshah Begam in the Shah Jahan zenana, shifting the position of his other wives. And Jahanara was given the title Begam Sahib, the Princess of all Princesses, which led to her becoming the richest woman in the land of Hindustant.

There's not much I can get from Arjumand's death. But one thing, I know that Shah Jahan will grieve for his beloved wife. For how long, I don't know, but it could be his whole life, because Arjumand is life itself. If only fate had led me to his zenana long ago, I would have been next to him, offering a shoulder or chest that he could hug as he pleased, no matter how hard the man would cry and scream all day, I would be with him, because my love was with him. But now, I think he's become the saddest man broken by charcoal.

Jafar sent me a letter the next day. He called me to the Ravi river, so I came to him in a hurry. I didn't ask Nazeer to come along, because I knew he would reject this at all costs. So I went with the company of women who were about to wash. I left with an empty basket, which I covered with another woven bamboo. When I got there, I slowly broke away from them. I walked carefully, down the muddy path that led me to an evergreen tree. There, Jafar stood alone with his brown horse. He realized that I was present, and at that moment his back was perfectly upright.

I came to him in a hurry. My veil was waving, so I took this thing off for free. I clasped his rough hands, and I stared at his sparkling eyes. “What's up, Jafar? Have you heard about ..”

“Yes, Ladli. May Allah bless the soul of Padshah Begam,” he said grimly. “I'm going to Agra today.”

I frowned, then my eyes looked out for him. “What? Why?” Fear came to me suddenly. “For how long? Why do you have to leave when I need you?”

“All noble and ministers will hold the ceremony of the Queen's death. I'll be there, because if it doesn't, it'll be considered treason.” He found my grim face. I fear for his soul which will be far south, many miles from Lahore. And she could, with her charming looking face, be alluring to one or two other women on the way. “I'll be back in one month, Ladli. We have to wait until the Sultan leaves from Burhanpur.”

“I know that,” I said to him, but my fear keeps on being-so in me. “Will you keep my love with you?” I asked him, expecting too much.

“Sure, Dear. I'll be back for you.”

I smile. I erased her soft cheeks, then I felt her chest that was field up and down breathing, wrapped up by her sparkling tunic. I wanted to hug her, but I knew I couldn't. Although I have spoken, and he has understood that how much we feel about each other, I cannot go too far. The risk is too great, either to him or to me anyway.

“You must return, my Beloved. I don't want Sultan Begam to know this.” He brushed my cheek, smiling very sweetly, as if it had been contracted by mine that I had laid on his lips for him.

I put my veil back on. “I will wait for you, by Allah's permission, Jafar.”

And I passed by, leaving her alone without looking back at her.

When I got to the grounds of our house, I placed my empty basket beside the water barrel. Arzani must have gone to play, somewhere, but will return when the evening comes. The sandals weren't in place, so I'm sure he wasn't home. As I slowly walked in, through the thin, latticed curtains of the main room, Mother jerked herself by sitting on the Persian carpet, leaning against the velvet pillows of her fur. His face was not happy, so I suspected that he was angry.

“Sit, Ladli,” he said in a faint voice. I couldn't even guess the end of the sentence, because I was glued to the look of his eyes. I sat quietly in front of him. My feet were cross-legged there, while the clattering of my anklets rang out in small increments. “My questions are answered because I am your mother.”

I nodded, my heart beating uncomfortably.

“Do you have a special relationship with Jafar Husein?”

I flinched, my breath gnawing. My heart pumps blood too fast, causing heat to lodge all over my body. “Who told this to Mom? Did Nazeer? Or the women?” ask slowly.

“That's not the case now, Ladli. I'm asking you to answer!”

I kept quiet for a long time, then replied. “And what if it is indeed ... true?”

A slap landed on my left cheek. I was shocked at the slap, because Mom had never slapped me before, even when I made a mistake. But now, when the slap actually landed on my face, leaving reddish hot spots, I saw that he was in a rage. There is no chance for me to face it now, but I try to hold on as much as possible even if I cry.

“He's Persian, Mom. Just like us.”

“Shut!” He slapped me once again. “You act as if a nautch girl. What the fuck? You're an honorable woman. You're Princess Ningrat.”

“I'm an ordinary Begam,” I replied. My tone of voice was serious to his eyes. “My father is not Sultan Jahangir. My father Ali Quli Istalju.”

“What's the difference?”

“Of course it's different. My blood is pure Persian, not mixed with Indo. The sons of Sultan Jahangir were born to Hindu wives. Now I ask, what the hell is that? Why is this all off limits? For I love Jafarlah so I run to him.”

Mother sneered, smiled, but more like mocking. “You don't love him, Ladli. He's just your impingement because he looks like Shah Jahan.”

I refuted. “It's not true.”

“I know that! I know your lies. And how cruel your feelings of love are poured out for him a person, while those feelings are not intended for him anyway.”

I growled, but didn't know what to say. Rona burned my face, ashamed of my own actions. My tears are seeping out of my eyes like warm water. God has given me love, but the love I now have is held back by senseless causes. Why should you refuse it? He had given Jafar his gold bracelet, and through it, through Jafar's obedience to his will, I should have understood, that he was an honest good man. I screech in myself, for the love of God, should Jafar be cut off from thought and love?

“I love him because I want him, that's all,” I said slowly in the end. I tried to be strong, but the dam inside me was like a piece of wet paper. “Please do not disturb this happiness from me. I cannot live as a saint without love for the rest of my life. Where is my happiness? I am not a Sufi. I can't find happiness just by loving God. I need to prove God's love in man. Therefore, I need Jafar to perfect my love for Allah.”

“Oh? You're smart now. Did Jafar teach you that?”

“For the love of God, Mom. Stop.”

“Forget him, Ladli. Forget her!”

“No!” pekikku. Mother did not speak at that time, because she saw that for the first time I refused her orders, spreading wrath before her. I thought he'd be angry, but he's silent without a rag. His hand trembled, but the tremors were held in order to be imperceptible. “I have tried to forget Shah Jahan in this way. You have commanded me to do so, and now, oh, Mother, for the love of God, why? I found my happiness with him? And for years, living in Shahryar nashudani's prison has made me bland to taste. I convinced myself to no longer believe in love. But Jafar came to me. It is not I who ask for it, for God has a plan.” I sobbed at my own words, realizing that I had spoken blatantly. “Jafar is an honest man. She had lived a miserable life, born from the womb of a Persian runaway mother. And he struggled to carry out his career alone by becoming the secretary of Wazir Khan. I never asked for more, as I had dreamed of before from a man. I will not ask him to live like my dream, because he has more than just a treasure for tajir. I think I'll agree because we and she have the same background. But now I know that I was wrong.” I got up, walked towards the stairs while continuing to sob. Behind the curtains, Nazeer Khan stood there. I ignored his presence and went up the steps of the stairs. “Where is the happiness I have? Please explain, Ma?”

“You only met him once, Ladli. And how can you say that you love her?”

“Not once.” I sharpened my words so he could understand. “I've been convinced that he loves me so much.” Then I ran up the stairs. My arms were almost unsteady guiding my own body as I stepped. At that moment, I said to the last one.

“You forgot one thing, Ladli.” I looked at him, and then at the back of that sentence. “That the Dowager Prince will never be able to remarry.”

“What?”

***

I'm spending time in waiting. I've made everything look terrible now, but I don't know what could be worse than that. Jafar had gone with the Vizier Khan a few days ago, with camels, horses, tents, food, and a great many servants and slaves. I observed the Lahore Fortress, which had a white, unblemished shell, from the balcony. Not far from the fort, there was a large griya belonging to Wazir Khan, and I imagined Jafar sitting on the balcony, shouting my name while doing the same thing as I do now. But, I know that I am dreaming. I've been crying myself back a lot lately. The void came back, dropping myself in a dark and pitch-black color. Nothing can be interpreted by that color, for I know that the blackness of my mind does not mean happiness. Arzani often comes, but his presence only brings more sadness, because I will kiss him too hard to calm my troubled self.

It had been almost two months, but neither Wazir Khan nor Jafar showed any sign that they had returned to the big griya. There was no word of wind, not even a letter indicating that they were alive. He had no idea that we would never unite, would not be bound by the sacred promise of marriage, for I had forgotten that there was no second marriage for a Dowager Prince. This love is very forbidden, and also never sanctioned either by the Sultan or from Mother. But I'm not stopping hoping and wondering.

Then, as I was almost dashed in the hope that Jafar would come back to me, a letter came in one morning. The fragrance has long been forgotten, even I barely remember the characteristic smell that was lost by time and waiting. When I thought the letter from Jafarlah had come, I was wrong then. Because it's a secret letter from Shah Jahan. She asked me to come to her zenana as a wife.[]